Rubble
by xX you're my good thing Xx
Summary: A short, feelsy, Traveller-centric one-shot based off of the Convergence, the fantastic roleplaying forum. Lots of angst, sadness, fun for everyone! T for mentions of death and dark subjects, but mainly cos I'm paranoid.


**Hey there :) In response the enourmous feels overload coming from the Convergence (an awesome roleplaying forum, go check it out) I wrote this. Not much to say here except to a shoutout to my dear friend Ender (TheStarbucksOfAncientGreece) who roleplays Sophia, and my other darling Obi (Obi-wan's girl forever). Go find their accounts, they're awesome writers :)**

 **But for now, read!**

* * *

 **Rubble**

There was a Time Lady standing in the centre of a broken down world, in front of a refugee camp. Around her, rubble and ash decorated the landscape, smoke blowing in from beside her. There were twelve sections around the woman, all projecting out from the centre hub.

The Box.

The Box was ticking, a monotonous sound that never ceased, over and over and over again, keeping time in its sadistic innocence. A countdown. A ticking time bomb.

The Time Lady dreaded the moment when the Box would take a pause and the world would go up in flames, one sector after another exploding and leaving behind only carnage and death and rubble.

It was always the rubble.

Gallifrey was rubble now, too, space rubble – floating in the air as it burned, almost peaceful in its destruction.

But this world was not Gallifrey, not her home. The Time Lady – the Traveller – had believed for one foolish moment that she had seen her share of death, that she had killed enough and done her time with the Devil, that she wouldn't be subjected to any more torture than she'd already been through.

She was wrong.

The longer the Traveller stayed in this world, this convergence of twelve fictions, the more she could piece together the three parts of her hearts. The three things that kept them beating and kept her sane.

The three things that the Time Lady needed to keep her going.

The first one was Sophia. Her flatmate, the girl who could always cheer her up no matter what the mood. Sophia, the sweet and bubbly young woman who saw the best in everyone and everything. Sophia, who remained with an air of innocence about her, even though she could throw knives on target and was a formidable huntress.

Sophia, who was missing in the explosions.

The second thing was Steve. Steve Rogers, Captain America. The Traveller's lover.

His sector – his fiction – was rubble now. She hadn't seen him in days, and the Traveller's worry threatened to consume her, devour her in a predatory manner as she forced it down, bubbling and boiling below the surface.

Steve, who could make her smile just by being there. Steve, who was surprisingly shy about asking her on a date for such an accomplished man. Steve, who picked the Time Lady up and twirled her around and made her think that perhaps it was worth it that this regeneration's body was so short – hardly a metre and a half tall.

And she hadn't told Steve that she loved him.

And he might be dead.

They all might be.

The third thing was her hope. The Traveller's hope that maybe someday, she would see this world's other resident Time Lord. They called him the Doctor, but to the Traveller, he was still Theta and she Jayda, and they were just two old friends.

The Doctor hadn't been seen in days, either.

Her hope was crumbling away, chipping away like the rubble that blew around and tumbled with each and every gust of wind, the wind that caused those miniature avalanches where the rubble crashed down below, crashing and chipping at the hope left in her hearts.

It was always the rubble.

The Traveller did not know how much longer that hope would last, but she knew that she needed it. She knew that the three things that made up her hearts would help her through this, if she could find them. She had to find them.

The Time Lady standing in the midst of the rubble, her hair blowing in the wind, was not a peculiar sight. She was just another of the refugees, fleeing into the world's centre, trying her hardest to stay alive – because they all knew that now, during this time, you only lived once.

The dead did not reappear in the place that they last slept.

The gone were not nearly a phone call away.

This was new, and it was terrifying.

The look in the Traveller's eyes was no different than all those lying on the ground, injured and dying and **broken** the way that she was. Broken where the pieces of their hearts were missing, scattered on the breeze and in the rubble and done for.

It always came back to the rubble.

The Traveller's eyes were green, a kaleidoscope, now, of tossing and turning emotions in a sea of her stormy iris. Because her hope was riding those waves, a tiny ship that dared to defy the raging seas and float to the very top, winking in and out of existence.

And as the ship slammed, bow first, into a massive wave, and the hope was extinguished as Sophia and Steve failed to turn for hours and hours on end. Two pieces of the Traveller's hearts shattered as she searched, calling and screaming until her voice was hoarse.

The pieces of her hearts that they held fell from their hands, the glittering shards falling into the rubble and making it sparkle with the love she had for them.

And now her hope was gone too, the light winking out of her eyes as a tear fell and splattered on the ground, wetting the grey rubble with its single lonesome drop.

It always came back to rubble.


End file.
